


Her Favorite Outfit

by Flames_and_Jade



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Banter, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Humor, Missing Scene, Storytelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 12:43:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6329725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flames_and_Jade/pseuds/Flames_and_Jade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luke finds a holo of Mara in the infamous catsuit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Favorite Outfit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bri_Cheese](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bri_Cheese/gifts).



> I've always hated the "Mara" outfit--that black catsuit, huge kneepads, that oddly-colored cape (seriously, I can't imagine Mara wearing a non-functional Lando cape like that!). So this is just a little humorous viggie about why she ever wore it in the first place, as recounted to our favorite Farmboy.

 

Sliding into the booth, Mara threw it’s other occupant a wry grin.

 

“Classy joint. You sure know how to make a girl feel special, farmboy.”

 

Luke grinned, picking up his ale and sipping it with a smile. “Well, this was one of my favorite places when I was with the Rogues. You’re the only one of my friends who hasn’t completely succumbed to respectability, and I was craving some comfort food, so…”

 

Mara glared at him as she picked up her beer. “At least you bought me a drink before you started insulting me…” Her words held no real anger, and Luke grinned at her as he singled the serving droid over.

 

They placed their orders, Luke selecting pootina—a hash of sorts with tubers, fried meat, and a sort of blue gravy all mushed together—and Mara picking a nerf steak and fried dwool rings. 

 

Settling back into the booth, Mara sized him up. “So…how come you’re okay to be seen in this seedy little place with me, since obviously I fit right in?” 

 

“Because nobody expects to see Luke Skywalker, Jedi Master and fine cuisine connoisseur to be at a place like this. Half of being invisible is being somewhere unexpected, right?”

 

Lifting a red-gold brow, Mara gave him a look that was half-patronizing, half-bored. “Fine cuisine connoisseur? You?” Just then their food arrived, and she fixed him with a pointed look. “That doesn’t look like high-minded fancy fare, Jedi.”

 

He laughed, spearing a tuber and shoving it into his mouth. “That’s because I’m not. It’s some stupid rumor the sludge news started when some two-bit reporter took a picture of me eating dinner at The Skyline, and suddenly I was some sort of snob.” 

 

“Well…what were you doing there?” Mara began to cut her steak, pleased to see it was cooked just as she liked it.

 

“Meeting Leia and Han for our birthday. It’s always been a joke, because we don’t really know when our birthday is, so we usually just pick a day and that’s the day we celebrate. Leia had been bugging Han to take her to that place for a while, and he figured he’d kill two birds with one stone—make Leia happy, and have someone to suffer with.” He put a piece of meat in his mouth and chewed appreciatively. “This is more my kind of food. Anyways, is your steak okay? It looks awful…raw.” 

 

She looked at him after a long-suffering eye-roll. “Unlike some people at the table, I like my food to still have flavor, not be the consistency of boot leather.”

 

“Ah. I thought you’d say that you prefer your kills still bleeding.”

 

“You know me too well.”

 

They moved on to other topics—Mara’s travels, what brought her to Coruscant, and Luke’s progress with his students. He carefully avoided anything that would sound like an invitation to train, for fear of igniting her temper. 

 

Once they finished their meal, Mara ordered another round of drinks—this time a heavier Corellian stout. The creamy drink slid down Luke’s throat and tingled on his tongue, and he gave her an appreciative nod. “This is really good.” 

 

“Of course it is. I picked it.” Mara laughed at that, and clinked rims with him. “Here’s to fine dining, Skywalker.” 

 

After a while—and several more brews of various types—Luke could feel his face was pleasantly warm. They had gotten up from the table and moved to the bar, where they sat near the holoprojector showing the smashball game. He felt his courage rise, and he pulled his data pad from his pocket.

 

“So you want to see something funny?”

 

Mara threw him a look. “Funnier than your Coruscant Clippers getting their butts handed to them?”

 

“Oh, much funnier, Jade. Look at what R2 showed me the other day.” Handing her the datapad, he burst out laughing at the look on her face as she saw its contents.

 

It was a grainy image of her standing at the bottom of a ship’s ramp, wearing what appeared to be a skintight suit of a shiny material with bulbous kneepads and sky-high heels, with a cape that managed to look both dog-eared and nauseating at the same time. A hood was around her neck and half-covering her bright hair, and goggles were resting against her collarbone. 

 

“Oh sithspit, where did you find this!?” Mara’s hand covered her open mouth, and she seemed to be either entranced or horrified at what she saw. “Faughn promised me these would never get out…” Luke pried the data pad from her fingers and set the drink he had ordered while her eyes had been glued to the screen down in front of her. “What’s this?” She picked it up and sniffed. “Whyryn’s, huh? You’re either spoiling for a good fight or a good time with a drink like that.” 

 

“Or just a really good story?” His blue eyes twinkled at her in a way that was both endearing and annoying, and the hopeful look on his face was adorably expectant. Mara wasn’t sure what made her resolve crumble…but she shook her head and took a sip.

 

“If you repeat this to _anyone,_ Farmboy, you’re going to be walking around in a suit like your father’s and drinking your food through a straw.” 

 

Luke held up two crossed fingers. “Jedi Honor.” 

 

She rolled her eyes, and pressed on. “Well, we had a bet, Faughn and I. One night we all got drunk when we were in Commenor, and we stumbled into a costume shop. I saw this hideous purple…thing, I don’t know you could even call it a suit. It was more like a pair of underwear and a jacket, with flames and fringe all over. Faughn found that… _thing_ …and we bet each other whoever was able to haggle down the customs officials the most would win, and looser had to wear the outfit to the drop-off. Aves was our judge, and bought the two outfits, and said he would keep them safe so nothing “accidentally” happened.  The next day we haggled, and left the system. Right before we jumped, we both commed him our final tariffs…and Faughn won, by 14 credits. So when we landed on Chandrilla, I was wearing…that.” She downed the rest of her drink. “It…pinched in strange places.” 

 

Luke was holding his sides and laughing, tears rolling down his cheeks. He choked a bit, and Mara pounded him on the back—probably harder than was necessary—and then punched him lightly. 

 

“I’m serious! That was the most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever worn, and I’ve worn some crazy stuff for covers. I had to literally pour myself into it, and no self-respecting woman wears heels like that if she has to walk any farther than from the speeder to her seat.” Luke gave her a dubious look, still laughing.

 

“No seriously, look at me. Have I _ever_ worn anything even remotely close to that?”

 

He looked her up and down—dark green pants with an assortment of pockets were tucked into sensible brown boots. She was wearing a black short-sleeved shirt, and her hair was tucked up into a ponytail. A chocolate nerfhide jacket was slung over the back of the high bar chair, and while her outfit didn’t hide her slim form, it didn’t highlight it either. 

 

“Fair enough. But please tell me you still have that outfit.” Mara sat back down and glared. 

 

“Absolutely not. I threw that off my ship as soon as the bet was up, though now I wish I hadn’t. I’d love to cram it down the throat of whoever gave this to you.” She poked him in the ribs. “Because I don’t believe for a second that R2 just happened to ‘find’ It on the ‘net.” 

 

His innocent look would have been convincing if his shoulder’s hadn’t still been shaking slightly.

 

She threw some credits on the bar, and pulled on her jacket, yanking him from his chair.

 

“Come on, farmboy. if you’re going to bring up my past like that, you’re buying me a drink down at Sylvan’s. They have my very favorite—and very expensive—whiskey there.” 

 

He grinned and followed her from the cafe. 

 


End file.
